Out Of The Shallow End

*inhale* His name is David. I don't feel nice when I refer to him as Mr. GQ-Asshole, even though he doesn't deserve any niceties from me right now, or ever. I was going to solemnly swear that I will try my best not to write about him here anymore, but I've changed my mind. I know it might be better for my mental and emotional health, and especially because he knows that I have a blog which is easily Google-able. But as I found during my last counselling session, what happened with him really did a number on me. So allow me a little while longer.

David.

I admit that I want to see you again. To see you and smile like I did whenever I opened the door and you were standing there, looking fabulous like you always do, like the twenty-seven year old I thought you were, but weren't. I want to see what outfit you've just put together, to smell your cologne, to feel the light tickle of your beard against my lips and cheek. Did you know I've never liked facial hair, that I've never been attracted to it at all until I met you?

I've been trying to let it go, really, I have. Admittedly, there are certain things holding me back, like my stupidly sticky emotional ties to everything and everyone. So while you may think I'm crazy to still be this attached to you, this is something I go through with a lot of people, not just you. I don't like losing things. I'm not saying that you're not special and unique (I'm sure you have a lot of talents beyond good fashion sense), because you did give me things that no one really has been able to in the past. In that sense, I thought you were pretty special, worthy of not only my time, but of my thoughts. Do you know what I did?

I went home and brought back my nice dresses and heels so that I'd have fancier things to wear to all those fancy dinners we were planning. I spent over $400 on new clothes, nice ones, to better match your wardrobe. I brought an iron back after the holidays. I NEVER iron. I considered getting clothes tailored and dry cleaned. I started blow-drying my hair and doing my make-up all the time. I don't even own a hair-dryer. The saddest part is that I didn't do all of this for me. I did it all for you. I have never been so wrapped up in things that are so superficial.

Emma, who knew you too, said that you were "just an outfit" and I don't think she was saying it just to make me feel better about everything either. Do you remember the day you wore three different outfits in the span of twelve hours? One to drive me to work, one to pick me up, and another one when we went out that evening. Conversation that night flowed better than it ever had, or ever would have again. I knew something was off too; it was pretty clear that we didn't have instant, amazing chemistry. We didn't have a lot in common. You fell asleep during The Darjeeling Limited. But I'm the type to think that opposites can be amazing together. I would have introduced you to my indie music, I would have taken you to grungy dives for ethnic food (I couldn't believe that you had never had sushi!), made you eat with your hands, taught you about loose leaf tea; I wanted to take you outside your comfort zone and open you up. And you could have taken me to more fancy restaurants and ordered me nice wine and champagne, you could have talked to me about fashion designers, taught me how to speak to your Oma in Slovak, and shown me more Cary Grant movies. We could have gone shopping together. And cooked meals together. And had wine by your fireplace. And maybe one day, I would have gotten used to your horrible, horrible snoring and actually sleep through the night.

The truth is that I could never read you. I never knew what it was that you were thinking and what you wanted. Ultimately, I guess you didn't want me. And that's okay, I guess, but it was the sudden, unceremonious way in which you did it that bothers me to this day. It wasn't a fairy tale ending, and there I was, thinking that you were totally Prince Charming. You know how the Princes always have a white steed? You actually have a white car. The symbolism was almost too much.

Like Prince Charmings do, you opened up to me a world that was previously unaccessible. Like you, I've always wanted a glamorous lifestyle, the kind you see on Sex and the City; the fancy clothes and cocktail parties, being driven around in a fancy car, and being wined and dined. Maybe it's superficial and shallow, but it's something that I've discovered that I want. I want to be done with student life. I want to be treated like a Lady. I want doors opened for me, to have my coat taken, to be treated to meals and drinks and anything. Now that I got the teensiest little taste of it, I'm craving it more than ever. And really, I'm typically not high-maintenance at all. But now I do my eye make-up every morning before work, and I wear my nice red coat with my nice long gloves. I have a $70 pair of shiny black pants, and a $90 see-through shirt. I never used to buy brand name stuff. I'm still my down-to-earth self on the inside, I've just cleaned up a little on the outside. I wish you were around to notice.

But I still have a $7 sweater in my closet, and hand me downs, and my room is really cluttered and dusty. My hair is everywhere. The thing with me is that I'm different, in and of myself; there's a lot to me. Layers, like onions. Em also said that I was too good for you, which (with as little hubris as possible) is also true. It's not like I was "too good for you" in that mean way; we're just different. Unlike you, though I like to look good and own nice things, that's not all I'm about. I'm deep and complicated and emotional. The last four years of my life have been unbelievably tumultuous and I'm still working through some stuff. I go to counselling. I believe that there's a certain depth to me and I eventually wanted you to dive into it. I never knew anything about you except for the fact that growing up as a single child made sharing hard for you, that you used to have Lego battles by yourself. I always felt that maybe there was something more to you, something deeper that I might be able to unearth.

I'm a chameleon, easily adaptable and comfortable in any situation. I can go to a punk rock concert and love being in the mosh pit, I can be at an upscale restaurant and then the ballet or opera, I can be a crunchy-granola-hippy student with my socks and Birkenstock sandals riding my bike to campus with a packed lunch in my backpack, I can wear stiletto heels to a club and dance. You stood awkwardly against the bar when it was hip-hop night. You've never eaten any interesting foods. You were a man (boy?) who was only good for half the lifestyle I want. I want a man who owns a pair of sweatpants. I want someone who knows weird music. I want someone who isn't 100% all the time. I want someone who can get dirty. Someone I can go camping with. Who doesn't change their clothes three times a day. I want someone who will laugh when I respond with, "Thanks, I grew it myself," to the comment, "You have really soft skin." I guess I want everything. The classy and the grungy. And though you may have been Mr. GQ, dashing and wonderful to me for a short period of time, you weren't Everything.

*exhale*
7:34 pm